


before it gets too cold

by apollothyme



Series: a tractor beam of sarcasm and kindness [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Self-Doubt, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 11:45:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12480824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollothyme/pseuds/apollothyme
Summary: Paul is an old sweater with a hole near the bottom that you can slip your thumb through. He is loud and brash and far more generous than he would ever willingly admit.He is oxygen, pure and unfiltered, going in and out of Hugh’s lungs continuously so that he never stops breathing. He is a love of nature and science so intermingled that you can’t pull them apart.





	before it gets too cold

**Author's Note:**

> i'm annoyed that there's no paul/hugh tag on ao3 yet and i'm determined to fix this massive issue single-handedly if i have to by writing 1000 tiny drabbles.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> am i petty? yes. incredibly so.

Paul is an old sweater with a hole near the bottom that you can slip your thumb through. He is loud and brash and far more generous than he would ever willingly admit. He is oxygen, pure and unfiltered, going in and out of Hugh’s lungs continuously so that he never stops breathing. He is a love of nature and science so intermingled that you can’t pull them apart.

He’s whispers in the dark and words that are too heavy to say in the face of sunlight. To Hugh, he is the autumn leafs that have already fallen on the floor, a mix of dried greens, fiery oranges and delighted yellows

In contrast, his levelheaded half is October rain before it gets too cold.

Hugh is the first raindrops of the year on the tip of Paul’s tongue; refreshing and sweet, a universe of hope and happiness all wrapped inside a tall human body. He is quiet smiles in the morning and lazy grins in the lull of slow afternoons. He’s the light when everything seems bleak.

He always comes off as calm and steady, a rock in an ocean of incertitude. Paul is sometimes jealous of Hugh’s serenity, but then Hugh will do something intrinsically human and vulnerable, he’ll have bags under his eyes or snap at a cadet for running the bloodwork wrong after too many sleepless nights, and Paul will let go of his doubts, if only for a while.

Hugh is a reason to get out of bed in tired mornings. Some days, he’s the only reason.

Hugh is the proof that falling in love is not a choice; should never be a choice. Falling in love is like mushrooms growing in dark humid forests. It’s inevitable once you meet the right person, even if your first impression of them is that they’re a rude jackass.

The right person is rarely obvious, because falling in love is rarely an obvious thing either. The right person is the one that makes you laugh when you’re so tired you’re two seconds from passing out in the medbay. The one who brings you lunch when you forget to eat and stands by your side come rain, sunshine or phaser fire.

The right person is a certainty and falling in love is like taking an extra step in the direction you were already headed.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” Paul asks one day. He’s feeling more honest than usual, exhausted after another restless day of complying with Lorca’s tyrannical orders for more, faster and better. His limbs are heavy and his head is restless and Hugh is by his side, reading from a datapad with an expression of everlasting peace on his face, which seems impossible to Paul, who knows his boyfriend is being as overworked as he is.

Day in and day out. There are no breaks during war. No time to catch their collective breaths and relax for a while and yet, while most crack and snap at their superiors, Hugh holds steady.

“Of what?” Hugh asks.

Paul hesitates for a second. Tired or not, there’s always something in him keeping the truth inside. His old psychiatrist told him it was because of his fucked up childhood, but then again Paul’s childhood was fucked up because _ he  _ was fucked up, so. Who knew.

“Of me,” he says.

Hugh shakes his head and laughs as if Paul has just shared an amazing joke with him. “Don’t think I could even if I tried.”

He turns on his side until they’re facing one another in their shared bed. Paul closes his eyes. “Lorca is driving me insane,” he admits. “I don’t know how you manage to stay so collected. I feel like I’m falling apart on most days.”

“I’m as worried and tired as you are.”

“But you don’t show it.” Paul opens his eyes. 

Hugh shrugs. “I’m not like that, but that doesn’t mean anything. Alright?”

Paul takes a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He tries to expel all of his anxiety and worries through that single gust of air, putting away his memories of yet another grinding day.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I’m just—”

“Exhausted because our Captain is determined to single-handedly end an intergalactic war? That’s normal, babe.”

Paul nods and leans further into Hugh, closing his eyes again.

And so they keep going, day in and day out.

In the dead of night, Paul wonders for how much longer.

  
  


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come say hi on tumblr dot com @ [paulculberr](https://paulculberr.tumblr.com/post/166749262313/fic-before-it-gets-too-cold)


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